


Purrferral

by CaptainSummerDay



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AUish, Gen, Hellfire!Ward, Therapy, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSummerDay/pseuds/CaptainSummerDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew Garner prides himself on being the best in his field. Superheroes and Supervillains alike flock to him for help with their problems, seeking his advice and guidance.</p><p>He had thought the most challenging issue with his latest patient would be keeping the fire damage to a minimum.</p><p>He couldn't have been more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purrferral

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lou for the initial prompt of Cats and Dogs, and also to Few and A for the cheerleading. I have nothing else to say other than I blame the caffeine.

“Doctor Garner, your two o’clock is here.”

Andrew nods to himself as he quickly scans the room for flammable objects before pressing the button on the intercom. It’s not like he can’t afford to replace any damaged items, but he’s just had the hardwood floors redone after the scorch marks refused to respond to any kind of treatment (that’s the problem with Hellfire, literally hell on every kind of material and the smell of sulphur has a tendency to linger) and this particular patient is still in the early stages of working through his (many) issues.

“Thank you, Alex. Would you send him in, please?”

Andrew settles himself in his favourite leather armchair as he quickly reviews his notes from the previous session. It is probably true that out of the many superheroes and supervillains Andrew sees on a daily basis, none have been more stubbornly resistant to his usual methods than Grant Ward aka Hellfire, (aka that-asshole-who-blew-up-my-plane if you include the name his ex-wife has given him) but Andrew doesn’t have all those fancy certificates hanging on his walls for decoration.

Oh no.

Andrew Garner prides himself on being the best in his line of work. His reputation for being non-judgemental and respectful of an individual’s choice of moral alignment has seen him become the number one choice for powered people with problems. (He still has the metal chessboard he received as a gift from his first success story set up in the corner of the room, just underneath the wedding photo that was taken after New York changed the law in respects to same sex marriage). But Grant Ward is currently a cause for concern.

The door to the office swings open as the man in question enters, the glower that has become his trademark (well, other than the obvious one) very much in place as he settles into the chair facing Andrew’s. Andrew allows himself to observe for a moment (something is clearly weighing on Ward’s mind despite his outward composure, that telltale whiff of sulphur is always a dead giveaway) before he reaches for his notepad.

“Good to see you, Grant.”

“Doctor.”

Uh oh.

Andrew holds back a wince at the use of his title and the sight of smoke rising slightly from the armrests of Ward’s chair.

It’s going to be one of _those_ sessions.

“Andrew, please. This insistence on formalities doesn’t really help us.”

There’s a stiff nod in response and then...

Andrew really liked that cushion.

He clears his throat as he settles into his ‘active listener’ position. “So Grant, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

“... it’s fine.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head towards the still smoking ashes of what used to be a velvet and goose feather addition to his office decor.

Grant’s jaw clenches. There’s a tic along his jaw line before he lets out a loud sigh and fixes Andrew with a look of resignation.

“They’ve been talking to you, haven’t they? Behind my back.”

Andrew keeps his expression neutral.

“I talk to a lot of people in my line of work. Who is it you’re referring to?”

“My _team_. I know they’ve been talking to you. I overheard them discussing whether they needed to call you after our last mission.”

Andrew inclines his head as he quickly runs through the past fortnight’s news headlines.

“Would this mission have anything to do with the destruction of the Captain America statue in Central Park?”

Aha! Bingo. Another tic.

“...that wasn’t actually our fault.” Grant shifts awkwardly in his chair. “We just wanted to add our own contribution to the line-up. It was going to be a peaceful protest, then shield turned up...”

Grant winces and looks away.

“The statue was collateral damage.”

Andrew scribbles down a note to return to the issue of Grant’s old team as he nods in sympathy and carefully words his response.

“Well I can tell you that none of your team have contacted me in the past fortnight...”

(For a change. Usually his phone and email are flooded with messages that are equal parts frustration and concern about their leader’s suicidal choices regarding mission planning and confronting a certain superhero.)

“...so I’m going to ask why you felt that may have been the case?”

Ward’s eyes narrow. Andrew tries to keep the concern off his face as the edges of his treated Persian rug start to smoulder.

(Note to self: send bill for replacement to Stark Industries as the new chemical treatment does _not_ prevent any form of fire damage as previously advertised.)

Grant mumbles something as the smell of burning thankfully dissipates.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”

Grant huffs out a breath and then closes his eyes with a groan.

“They sent Quake.”

Ahhhh. Andrew can feel himself nodding as he makes another note in his book while Grant, now that the issue has been shaken loose... (Andrew makes another note, that one’s too good not to write down) pushes himself out the chair and begins pacing.

“I mean, it’s like they _wanted_ us to make a scene. We’ve been completely on board with the whole ‘find other means of protest’ thing. It’s been months, _months_ since we even so much as raided one of their bases, but none of that seems to matter. They just swarm in and it’s all Hydra this and Monster that, completely ignoring the fact that we actually wiped out the remains of Strucker’s operation _and_ tracked down Whitehall to that Swiss retreat and turned him in. But oh no, none of that matters. _They’re_ the heroes so that means we’re the villains by default.”

Grant pauses and glares at the drapes hanging over Andrew’s floor to ceiling windows. Andrew clears his throat hastily before he has to add any more soft furnishings to his compensation claim.

“Walking away from confrontation is not a sign of weakness, Grant.”

“I know that. I do. It’s just...”

Grant collapses back down in his chair and drops his head. Andrew doesn’t need him to finish the sentence. It’s been one of the core issues over the last six months, ever since Hellfire’s second in command (a lovely young woman named Kara) had dumped the battered and smoking form of Grant Ward in his office with a stern order to _fix him before he does something even more stupid_ in the wake of the Chilean incident.

( _That_ had made for an uncomfortable conversation when his ex-wife had phoned to vent about the loss of a base and the volcano cover-up that ensued.)

If Andrew is being completely honest with himself, he’s running out of ideas about how best to tackle the problem of Hellfire and Quake. If the fixation were merely one sided, Andrew is sure he would eventually be able to channel it into more healthy and rewarding outlets. But Quake seems just as unable to let go of their previous relationship, hence Hellfire’s need to always act the Villain whenever she (inevitably) turns up. His discreet earlier enquiries to Coulson about the possibility of a joint therapy session had been met with Andrew being banned from Shield sites for a month (and a severe tongue lashing from Melinda before they discussed the previous night’s acts on ‘America’s got Talent’.)

Andrew hums thoughtfully to himself as he reviews his notes. It might be a long shot but...

“Have you thought about maybe getting a pet?”

Grant’s head snaps up and he skewers Andrew with a glare.

(Note to self: Strike that suggestion.)

*

Andrew replaces the phone receiver as he lets out a deep sigh. He can feel the beginnings of tension headache creeping in around his temples and toys with the idea of taking some preventative pain medication before his two o’clock arrives. A quick glance at the time makes him pull out his emergency bottle of scotch instead. Although Melinda had been downplaying her concerns as usual, the disappearance of her protégé had caused enough worry (and accusations involving a soon to be arriving ‘Supervillain’) that Andrew senses he may not be the only one in need of a medicinal drink.

Not that Andrew thinks Hellfire had anything to do with Quake’s failure to report in after her last mission. For once the only messages he’s received from Kara have been cautiously optimistic. She seems to feel that the team might finally be turning the tide of popular opinion after some successful efforts at rebranding. (Andrew didn’t really know about that, his numerous academic accolades all being in psychology and not marketing.) But however pleased Kara is with Grant’s progress, Andrew knows there would be no way that Hellfire is handling the vanishing of his nemesis well.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his intercom buzzes.

“Doctor Garner, your two o’clock has arrived.”

Andrew collects the two glasses from his desk after informing Alex to show Grant in and makes his way over to the two armchairs.

He’s busy pouring the second of the two measures of whisky when Grant enters, so is somewhat taken aback when he turns with tumbler in hand and gets his first real look at Hellfire in two weeks.

“...”

Grant’s glower in response is diminished slightly by the pink butterfly bandages holding the cut on his cheek together as he wordlessly accepts the pro-offered drink and drops into the armchair.

Andrew quickly collects himself (he’s not the best in his field for nothing) and tries again for a cordial greeting.

“...I’m not going to need to contact my lawyer again, am I?”

(Damn it. Get your head in the game, Garner.)

Luckily, Andrew’s brief lack of professional composure seems to pass unnoticed by his patient... judging by the lack of incendiary reaction at least. He’s instead met by a quick head shake as Grant knocks back the scotch and silently holds out the glass for refill.

After another generous measure has been added, Andrew sinks into his chair and allows himself a moment to study the man currently sat across from him.

The various cuts and scratches along with the tears to his clothing have Andrew at something of a loss following Kara’s glowing progress reports and the lack of any mention in the press of nefarious deeds. In addition, Grant himself is obviously agitated, his body tense as he sits forward in his chair, staring at the amber liquid in his hand.

Andrew is pondering how best to broach the topic of Hellfire’s current state of disarray when the decision is taken out his hands.

“I need your help.”

Andrew is a professional and therefore covers both his shock and desire to fist pump at this breakthrough. He instead takes a sip of whisky as he inclines his head to encourage Grant to expand upon his statement.

Grant responds by narrowing his eyes and finishing his drink.

Andrew didn’t survive all those years married to Melinda without being able to hold his own in a stare down.

Grant lets out a sigh and collapses back into his chair.

“Look, I’m at a total loss here. There’s just so much anger and rage and maybe even resentment... I don’t know what I’m doing. What I’m _meant_ to be doing. This is all completely new to me and I tried to convince myself that it was all normal and things would get better with time but now I think they may be getting worse and I don’t know what to do!”

Grant drags a hand down his face and swallows.

Andrew can feel himself leaning forward slightly in his seat.

(If Andrew is being completely honest with himself, he’s already mapping out the best locations in his office for inevitable photo spread following yet another supervillain rehabilitation.)

(Currently it’s tied between a casual lean against the wall by the window for the ‘backlit and approachable’ vibe or the more serious seated at his desk for the ‘professional yet caring’ vote.)

Grant huffs out a breath and sits up to look Andrew squarely in the eye.

“I think my cat has issues.”

Andrew blinks.

“Your cat...”

“has issues.” Grant repeats with an emphatic nod. “Serious psychological issues.”

Andrew blinks again.

“...your cat?”

“I think she’d benefit from therapy. Only, whatever kind of therapy it is that cats get.”

Andrew can feel the tickling of that earlier tension headache returning. He sucks in a breath as he massages his temple.

“Is it at all possible that you’re maybe...” Andrew casts around for a delicate way to phrase the next part and draws a blank.

“Maybe what?”

Grant doesn’t blink, his stare seemingly laser focused right on the source of Andrew’s discomfort.

Andrew throws caution to the wind and mentally accepts the financial hit of redecorating his office a third time.

“Maybe projecting your own issues onto your cat?”

Grant still hasn’t blinked.

“I didn’t claw my own face up.”

Andrew can’t seem to tear his gaze away from those little pink bandages.

The temperature of the whisky in his hand seems to be increasing.

Andrew lets out a sigh.

“Fine. Bring your cat along next session.”

He’d swear Hellfire looked smug as he walks out the room.

*

 _The problem with being the best in your field,_ Andrew reflects as he gazes across at the armchair opposite, _is that there isn’t really anyone you can turn to when it’s your own life that’s spiralling out of control..._

There’s a hiss as Grant settles the small spitting feline in his lap, taking care not to jolt the back rear leg currently sporting a neon green plaster cast as he half caresses, half pins the cat in place with a gentle hand. Luckily Hellfire has yet to notice Andrew’s slightly distracted state as he fusses over the animal currently clawing his leg deeply enough to draw small pinpricks of blood onto the fabric of his jeans.

Andrew winces. Grant doesn’t seem to notice as he absent mindedly disengages the claws while continuing to explain his situation.

“...but she’s been like this ever since we got back from the vets and I know he warned about the possibility of an adverse reaction to the sedative and medication, I just can’t help but feel it’s actually a much bigger problem.”

“It does seem to be that way.” Andrew offers weakly unable to look away from the distinctive black markings on the cat’s front legs.

“She’s eating so I don’t think it’s caused by pain from the break, but she’s so hostile, not just to me but to everyone back at base, we’re worried she might have some deep seated trauma that’s causing this behaviour.”

“More than likely.”

The tawny brown and gold feline snaps at Grant’s finger as he gives up on preventing his thigh from being shredded and instead opts to cradle the cat next to his chest. He doesn’t seem to notice however as he continues to stroke her in a soft, soothing movement.

(Andrew wishes that he hadn’t polished off the last of his scotch after his phone conversation with Melinda last night. In hindsight it had been ridiculously premature.)

“And you found her in some rubble?” Andrew offers instead, mainly as a way to buy time as he wonders how to broach what is bound to be a difficult subject with his most difficult subject.

Grant nods distractedly as his thumb rubs the back of the cat’s neck.

(Andrew’s not sure, but he _thinks_ he might have briefly heard something like a purr.)

“Kara’s niece attends, or rather, _used_ to attend the community day-care down from the AIM lab that shield destroyed last month. We were busy pulling everyone from the wreckage when we found her, pinned under a rock in the vets next door.”

Andrew watches as the cat stills and seems to focus very hard on something. There’s a thud as his Viscounti fountain pen rolls off his desk and onto the floor. Underneath Grant’s hand, the cat visibly wilts.

“Have you tried talking to her?”

Grant pauses in his ministrations to frown at Andrew.

“Talking... she’s a _cat._ ”

Andrew nods as he makes a note detailing how he so does not get paid enough money to deal with this crap.

“I think that’s the root of the problem. You need to talk to her. Let her get to know the real you, help her see who Grant Ward truly is. I’m sure once she stops seeing you as the enemy, things will get much simpler.”

Andrew is too busy adding zeros to his revised estimate of his hourly rate to see the twin looks of derision aimed in his direction.

“Should I take her out for dinner too?” Grant drawls out mockingly.

“Can’t hurt.” Andrew glances across the room at the clock and notes with relief that the session is almost over. “Maybe watch some movies, cult classics of the 80s and 90s should be a good place to start, try and find some common interests... ones that don’t involve killing anything.”

Neither Grant nor his feline companion have moved when Andrew turns back to face them. He taps at his wrist in the universal symbol for time.

“We’ll discuss how you both got on next session.”

As Andrew watches the pair make their way out the room he walks across to the intercom and leans on the button.

“Can I help you, Doctor Garner?”

“Alex, yes. I need you to cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks and book me on the first flight leaving the nearest airport.”

“...is everything all right, Doctor Garner?”

“Perfectly.”

Andrew ponders how much distance he’s going to need between him and his ex-wife when he breaks the news about what happened to her missing team member.

A couple of continents should work.

At least that way, Skye and Grant have a decent chance of making a dent in their issues.

*

“Your two o’clock is here, Doctor Garner.”

Andrew flips the copy of Time magazine closed with a satisfied nod and tucks it into his desk drawer.

“Please send them in Alex.”

Andrew rises from behind his desk and snags his bottle of Scotch along with a couple of glasses as he crosses to settle in his comfortable arm chair.

He can hear the door to his office open and close as he pours out a generous measure in each glass.

Footsteps cross the room as he turns and holds out a tumbler.

“Phil.”

“Andrew.”

“Won’t you have a seat?”

Coulson accepts the drink and sits down stiffly in the armchair as Andrew settles back and reaches for his notebook.

“They’re always together!” Phil explodes and knocks back the shot.

Andrew settles for nodding sagely and letting Coulson work through his feelings.

“We’ve had to fake six counts of volcanic activity in the last fortnight alone. The repair bill for the hotel in Vegas we dragged them out of was into the thousands, and that’s before we factor in the cover up!”

Andrew makes a note to send a thank you card to Grant and Skye for the whisky as he nods along to Phil’s outburst. The blend is beautifully smoky with just the right amount of peat. He takes another sip and really allows himself to savour the flavour.

“...She was a cat!” Phil exclaims as he collapses backwards, exhausted.

“Well,” offers Andrew helpfully, “You were dead.”

Phil stares at him, speechless.

Andrew smiles and resists the urge to crack his fingers. He can already sense the next Time spread.


End file.
